


I Don't Need You (But I Want You)

by Cynonyms



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 08:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13360377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynonyms/pseuds/Cynonyms
Summary: Enjolras hissed in anger, causing Grantaire to shy away even further. “You,” he declared, resisting the urge to throttle someone, “are never returning to Thénardier. And his rules are therefore completely irrelevant. You are your own person. From now on, you have no owner and you will not need to satisfy anyone whom you don’t want to. Is that understood?”“I, I,” the boy stuttered from the foot of the bed. “Are you an angel?”In which Enjolras just wants the best for Grantaire, but all Grantaire really wants is Enjolras.





	I Don't Need You (But I Want You)

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on my other story before heading back to uni, but I got this idea in my head and here it is. This is the first of probably three chapters? 
> 
> This is very much unbeta-ed so if you see any mistakes, I'M SORRY & please let me know :)

***

 

Enjolras woke up cold. He reached out instinctively, hands grasping at empty bedsheets. It wasn’t until he finally blinked awake to an empty bedroom that it hit him: Grantaire was gone. 

It wasn’t a sudden realization, but it didn’t hurt any less. Grantaire had left months ago, giving Enjolras a cocky little salute before the expression on his face turned affectionate and soft.

“I’ll be back,” Grantaire had promised with a small smile, his knapsack on the floor beside him. And then he was giving Joly one last hug, kissing Musichetta’s cheek, and wiping away Cosette's tears with the tips of his fingers. He took a tentative step towards Enjolras, but it was Enjolras who closed the distance between them, pulling the shorter man into his embrace. He couldn’t help but clutch at the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt, clinging just for a second, before forcing himself to let go and stepping back. 

“Musain Manor will always welcome you back.”

He watched as Grantaire rode off and reminded himself over and over again that this was good. This was what Grantaire wanted, and so this was what he wanted. If Grantaire wanted to leave to explore the world, then Enjolras would be the last person to stop him. 

Still, months later, Enjolras couldn't help but flinch every time the door to his study creaked open. Couldn’t stop reaching out for the familiar body heat in the morning, or looking over his shoulder every time he saw a puppy on the streets, only to find Combeferre’s pity. Musichetta no longer made her specialty meat pies, Cosette didn’t come around as often anymore, and even Marius seemed subdued. Everyone missed the shout of laughter ringing through the halls. 

Settling into the empty sheets, Enjolras stayed in bed, watching as the sun moved across the horizon through his bedroom window. 

  

***

 

Most days, Enjolras wouldn't know what he would do without Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

However, when it came to Grantaire, Enjolras blamed Courfeyrac entirely. 

He had teased Enjolras about his bachelor status, because “ _you’re not even taking advantage of it Ange_ ,” insisting the monthly balls and dances weren’t quite adventurous—or scandalous—enough. Enjolras, never one to back down from a challenge, decided to find the most disreputable tavern in the countryside. 

The tavern entrance was hidden in a dark alleyway. A wooden plaque, “The Sergeant at Waterloo” hung crooked above the doorway. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged a look before heading in. With a sigh, Enjolras followed his best friends into the tavern. 

The tavern was exactly what Enjolras had expected: dark, dirtied rooms filled with scruffy looking strangers and a grumpy bartender who handed Courfeyrac three grubby glasses.

“This isn’t quite what I expected,” Enjolras said sheepishly, taking one quick glance at the dark liquid before setting the glass back down. 

“It’s not quite so bad,” Courfeyrac shrugged, downing his glass.  

“Better than expected,” Combeferre agreed, taking a reluctant sip. 

Enjolras grinned at his friends’ matching grimaces before finally taking a sip himself, just barely stopping himself from gagging. An oiliness coated his tongue and he made a face as Courfeyrac took yet another sip. “You have such low expectations.”

Later in the night, Courfeyrac began melting into Combeferre’s side, giggling. Combeferre’s was turning a bright pink, visible even through the shitty lighting of the tavern. Enjolras winked at his best friend, and Combeferre made a face back but did nothing to dissuade Courfeyrac's affectionate displays. 

As he was debating ordering another drink, a waif like figure approached them from behind the counter.

 “Excuse me,” a voice purred, startling Enjolras. 

“Excuse _me._ ” The boy—for he couldn’t have been older than eighteen—had dark unruly hair, a slightly crooked nose, and incredibly pale skin with purpling bruises running up his arms and disappearing into the threadbare sleeves of his top. Upon closer inspection, Enjolras noticed more bruises dotting along the boy’s jaw; a series of teethmarks lining his collarbone—he realized with horror, that someone had bitten down hard enough to break skin- and a wretched look in his eyes, even as he leered again, swaying gently on his feet. 

“Would you like some _company_ ,” the boy asked, trailing delicate fingers down Enjolras’ arm, the almost imperceptible tremble running through the boy’s entire body jolting Enjolras out of his shock.

“No thank you,” he responded politely and the boy looked devastated for a fleeting second before his expression became suggestive again.

“Are you sure? I could make it worth your while, _monsieur_.”   

Enjolras declined again and watched as the boy slinked off across the tavern, stopping occasionally to totter against other patrons. He was incredibly thin, almost too thin, Enjolras thought disapprovingly. He might not want the company the boy was offering, but he was incredibly tempted to find the boy and just shove him at Musichetta and a few loaves of bread.

“Maybe it’s time to go.” Combeferre glanced towards the corner where the boy had disappeared off to. “I think we’ve had enough adventure for one day.” 

As Combeferre led Courfeyrac outside, Enjolras turned back into the tavern, heading towards where the boy had disappeared off to. Since the boy had left, a cold feeling had settled into his gut, insisting that the boy was in trouble. He couldn’t find the boy at first, stumbling between drunk strangers and barstools, before finally reaching the back of the room. He was about to give up and head out, trying to shake off the cold feeling that had settled into his gut, when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

A girl with dark hair and even darker eyes stared at him defiantly when he tried untangling her fingers from his shirt, simply rolling her eyes and tugging at his sleeve again, this time harder. She pressed her index finger against her lips, waiting for him to nod in understanding, before leading him towards a doorway he hadn’t noticed before. She yanked him closer, whispering harshly into his ear, “You’ve got to save him. His name’s R,” before releasing him and disappearing into the crowd. 

Curious, Enjolras pushed the door open a crack and found the boy— _R_ —cowering against a wall. A man with greasy hair and a garish, velvet waistcoat loomed over him threateningly.

“If I knew you were going to be such a waste of money," the man sneered, hands gripping at the boy’s arm hard enough to leave more bruises, “I would have never paid for you in the first place. What use is a _slut_ when they’re too loose and too ugly to screw?”  

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed in anger as the boy simply cowered further, visibly shaking.

“You’re going back out there and you’re going to _beg_ someone to use you and earn your keep, or I might as well sell you to the butcher. Make sure you’re not a complete waste of money.” With that, he threw the boy against the wall and stalked out of the room, narrowly bumping into Enjolras. “Ah, sir,” he smirked, voice dripping with oil. “If you’re looking for some company, there’s—”

Enjolras doesn't remember cocking back his fist but he could feel the sharp crunch of bone cracking against his knuckles. 

The man went down with a grunt and Enjolras entered the room. The boy was trembling and staring at him, recognition dawning across his face. Enjolras had a second to realize that he didn’t really have a plan beyond finding the boy. Combeferre on the other hand, was a master at plans. So really, it was only logical to take the boy to Combeferre.

“R. We don’t have long. Do you like it here?”

The boy hesitated, glancing between Enjolras and the man on the ground. “Monsieur?”

“Do you like it here?” Enjolras repeated. 

“N-no. Not particularly.”

“That’s what I thought,” Enjolras stepped towards the boy, holding out his hand. The boy glanced at it suspiciously for a moment before taking it, allowing himself to be pulled closer. With one last withering look around the room, Enjolras exited the room, stepping over the body of the man, and led the boy out the tavern. 

A woman followed them out, shrieking at the boy to come back and shrieking at Enjolras for hitting her husband, but one stern glance from Combeferre quieted her down. Giving Enjolras one last glare, she stalked towards the boy, intent on dragging him back. Beside him, the boy’s shaking increased. Before she could lay her hand on the boy’s arm, however, Combeferre moved forward, his pistol drawn and aimed.

“I wouldn’t touch him if I was you.” 

She hesitated for a second before taking another step towards R and Combeferre fired a warning shot, just grazing her arm and she screamed in anger. Enjolras stepped between the boy and the woman, and Combeferre calmly reloaded and aimed again, this time directly at her arm.

“That was a warning shot. This one won’t be.” 

Directing one last furious look at Combeferre, she stomped back into the tavern, her heels clacking on the cobble stone pavement. Before the tavern door slammed shut, Enjolras saw the dark haired girl from before disappear inside. 

Combeferre looked resigned, but not surprised, when Enjolras helped Grantaire up onto his horse, Patria. 

In fact, tt wasn’t until they were halfway across town until Combeferre spoke up. “So, where are we going?”

The boy, R, was clinging on to him like a second skin and Enjolras could feel the exact moment he stiffened up. “Where should I drop you off?” he asked carefully, slowing the horse down. 

The boy’s arms tightened around him for a second before going completely slack. “You might as well drop me here sir, not that it makes a difference.”

“Of course it does. Where’s your home?”

The boy’s nose pressed up against Enjolras’ spine and his voice was muffled when he responded. “I was… sold to Master Thénardier, monsieur, I don’t have a home anymore. But if you would be so kind as to drop me off in the next town, I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

Courfeyrac’s expression was unusually somber and he shot Enjolras a look before speaking up. “What’s your name?”

“Grantaire, monsieur. But most people call me R.” 

“Alright, R. You’re coming home with us, does that sound okay?” 

Enjolras couldn’t see the boy’s face but he could already imagine the fear-stricken expression on his face. 

“You can come home with us tonight,” he said decisively, hoping he didn’t come off too patronizing. “You look like you could use some food and a good nights rest. And if at any time you want to leave, I’ll help pack you a bag." 

Grantaire stiffened before muttering, almost petulantly, “I don't need your charity.”

“This isn't charity,” he promised. “But I would like to help you.”

They wait there, the horses stamping impatiently as Grantaire deliberated.

“Okay,” he finally agreed, voice soft and tired. “Thank you, monsieur.”

“Call me Enjolras.”

 

***

 

Enjolras woke up to find Grantaire trying to reach into his sleep pants, the boy jumping back guiltily when Enjolras finally registered what was happening and scrambled away blearily. The boy shied back tearfully, mumbling “‘’M just trying to do my job, master.”

“Your job?" 

“To satisfy customers sir. Master always said I had to work for my stay.”

Enjolras hissed in anger, causing Grantaire to shy away even further. “You,” he declared, resisting the urge to throttle someone, “are never returning to Thénardier. And his rules are therefore completely irrelevant. You are your _own person_. From now on, you have no _master_  and you will not need to _satisfy_ anyone whom you don’t want to. Is that understood?”

“I, I,” the boy stuttered from the foot of the bed, eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you an angel?”

Enjolras sputtered, surprised at the question. Grantaire stared, his shaking abating slightly. Enjolras noted that he seemed to have finally relaxed incrementally. 

“I’m not,” he finally said. “What was happening to you was terrible and any decent human being would have done the same thing. And I will continue to do anything in my power to make sure you are never back in that situation again.”

“May I…” the boy trailed off, ducking his head shyly so that his curls flopped in front of his face. “If you don’t mind my presence greatly, monsieur, could I stay here?” Grantaire looked up, gnawing on his lip before rushing to say, “At the manor? I could do any job you wanted me to do, and I could help cook and clean and whatever else? Just for a bit, not forever of course, I would never take advantage of your hospitality and I’m sure you don’t want something so ugly marring your house... of course you would never want me to stay, I—”

“Of course you can stay.”

“I would—Oh.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you back here in the first place if I didn’t want you to stay as long as you needed. And I wouldn’t have offered my help if I wasn’t going to give it.” Enjolras grinned at the dumbstruck look on Grantaire’s face. “And if you want, I’ll introduce you to Musichetta tomorrow and you can help her out in the kitchens. She collects cute things though, so if I introduce you to her, you might never be able to leave.”

Grantaire flushed at the comment, contemplating Enjolras with a thoughtful expression on his face. “May I sleep here tonight, master,” he finally said, breaking the silence. 

“You can sleep here tonight as long as you stop calling me master,” Enjolras huffed, making the boy grin impishly. 

In the morning, Enjolras woke up to find Grantaire curled up in the corner of his bed, shivering in his sleep. He took a second to drape the sheets over the young boy before heading downstairs to where Musichetta was preparing breakfast.

Later, Musichetta was the first one to notice when Grantaire peeked out from behind the doorway, hair rumpled and still dressed in his threadbare shirt. She gestured for him to come and taste the broth she spent the morning preparing. At Enjolras’s encouraging smile, his eyes lit up and he stepped into the kitchen.

“Musichetta, let me introduce you to the newest resident of Musain Manor. This is Grantaire.”

 

***

 

“No.” Combeferre didn’t even look up from the newspaper.

“But Ferre,” Enjolras whined, sliding down onto the couch next to his friend. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“No?” Combeferre looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose to stare at Enjolras with an amused expression . “So you weren’t going to ask me to gather information on the the owner of the tavern?”

Enjolras closed his mouth and resolutely does not pout. He is a grown ass man, he does not pout. Instead, he sits there silently as Combeferre let him sulk for a solid five minutes.

Combeferre resolutely doesn't look at him, but the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. “Is Courfeyrac back yet?”

“Courfeyrac? Did he go anywhere?”

Combeferre smirked, still focused on his newspaper. “He was out finishing some business last night. Some tavern a few towns over? One by a man named Thénardier. He was exploiting sexual slavery or something along those lines.”

Enjolras stopped breathing for a second, gaping at Combeferre with what he was sure was a ridiculous expression on his face. At that exact moment Courfeyrac entered the living room with a flourish, his riding cloak draped across his shoulders. He looked jubilant, large grin dominating his face and dimple flashing when he saw Combeferre and Enjolras. 

“Good morning,” he greeted, pressing a quick kiss to Combeferre’s cheek and another one to Enjolras’s forehead, laughing. 

“Did you—”

“Deal with the Thénardiers?” Courfeyrac grined, but it wasn’t one of his bright, happy smiles. In fact, Enjolras shuddered, it looked downright sinister. “I suppose you could say my course of action reflected on that outcome.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t do it for you Ange,” Enjolras blinked in surprise and Courfeyrac chuckled, settling comfortably against Combeferre. 

“Okay,” he finally said. “Is he dead?”

At this, Courfeyrac looked up from where he was playing with Combeferre’s hair. His eyes were unusually stormy and his jaw set stubbornly. “We all care about R. And what the Thénardiers did to him was cruel and inhumane. So I returned the favor.” Enjolras nodded his understanding and couldn’t even try to hide his relief. “The only question here is, how do we tell Grantaire?”

Enjolras froze. His mind flashed to Grantaire cowering against the wall as Thénardier loomed over him and made up his mind. “We don’t.” 

“We don’t?”

“We don’t. He’s already been through so much already and… I don’t want him to..” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “We don’t.” Combeferre huffed but nodded. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes before standing up and dragging Combeferre down the hall with him.

“We’re going to celebrate a job well done,” he called back to Enjolras and Combeferre flashed Enjolras a small smile before letting Courfeyrac lead him out. 

 

***

 

It took Grantaire a week before he stopped jumping at every small movement, and to convince the boy that Enjolras wasn’t going to sell him back to the Thénardiers. 

It took another week before he felt comfortable calling Enjolras anything other than monsieur, or master. 

_The second title caused Enjolras more distress than he would ever admit, much to Courfeyrac’s endless amusement._

After that, Grantaire would follow Enjolras into his study, curl into himself until he was small enough to tuck himself into one of the many nooks, peeking out at Enjolras every so often, a shy smile on his face. Enjolras found himself looking up from his documents to make faces at the boy, eliciting quiet giggles. 

Grantaire seemed to take comfort in his presence, often arriving to breakfast looking haggard, his whole body relaxing only when he registered Enjolras there with his usual cup of tea. After completing Musichetta’s daily list of chores, Grantaire would find his way to Enjolras and curl up on the windowsill of his study, a small sketchbook in his hands and a look of extreme concentration on his face. 

“He’s probably trying to make sure it’s not a dream,” Musichetta said, amused at Enjolras’s worried expression. “The poor boy probably has some sort of savior complex going on and you’re like a god to him.”

_Angel_ , Enjolras thought moodily.  

“Also,” Musichetta continued, stirring at the soup with a thoughtful expression on her face.” Didn’t he mention that his family sold him to the Thénardiers? R probably has some issues with abandonment that we can’t even begin to understand. You’re probably the one constant that he’s anchoring himself to and it scares him to think you might abandon him too.”

Enjolras frowned. “That hadn’t occurred to me,” he admitted grudgingly, mentally berating himself. “Do you think I should talk to him about that? Assure him I won’t?” 

Musichetta snorted, patting Enjolras’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, the way you go about declaring things, I think that would just scare the poor boy even more.”

 

***

 

Enjolras groaned, pushing the documents away from him. He had a head for business, always had. It was how he turned his father’s debt-filled legacy around, establishing his steel empire at just twenty years old. 

He had started from the bottom, working to integrate himself into the steel industry. No one wanted to work with him, the poor man’s son, with no legacy and a company that was just barely in the running. In fact, if it wasn’t for Combeferre and Courfeyrac, E&Co wouldn’t have made it past its first year. 

Now, five years later, E&Co was successfully running without his constant supervision and he was mostly in charge of paperwork. Which he could definitely do without. While he was debating whining at Combeferre in hopes he would complete the paperwork instead, someone knocked on the door. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. It had been months since Enjolras had explicitly given Grantaire permission to enter his study, but the boy still insisted on knocking before entering. 

Grantaire’s head peeked out from behind the doorway and Enjolras made a face as he grinned cheekily. “Have you come to bother me again,” he asked sternly, knowing full well that his lips were twitching in amusement.

“I’ve come to keep you young,” Grantaire snipped back cheerfully, entering the room with a tray loaded with a teapot and pastries. “Musichetta told me to tell you that you’re going to be a hunchbacked old man by the time you’re thirty if you keep sitting like that.” Almost instinctively, Enjolras straightened up in his chair, flushing when Grantaire burst into laughter.

“I’m sure she said that those words exactly.”

Grantaire gave him another cheeky grin as he set the tray onto the table, shuffling some papers around to make room for the food. 

Enjolras groaned as he bit into a palmier, the crispy edges flaking onto his fingers. He cursed as some of the buttery flakes landed on his sheets, flashing Grantaire a grateful glance when the boy dusts them off carefully. 

“These are really good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. “Musichetta really outdid herself this time.”

He looked up when Grantaire didn't respond and found the boy bright red, with a small pleased expression on his face as he busied himself with unloading more pastries.

“Grantaire.”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you make these?" 

Enjolras watched as the entirety of Grantaire’s neck turned a pretty crimson. “Maybe. Are they good?”

Enjolras bit back a moan as he took another bite. He had always had something of a sweet tooth and the palmier was perfectly sweet and buttery, flaky layers melting onto his tongue. “I think you may need to write the recipe down for me,” he joked, taking another one from the plate. 

There was a silence as he bit into his second pastry, Grantaire settling into his own seat across the desk. “I, uh. I can tell you how to make them if you’d like,” Grantaire mumbled into his own pastry. “It’s pretty simple.”

Enjolras stopped eating for a second to stare at Grantaire who was very obviously not looking at him.

“Grantaire,” he finally said. “Can you write?”

He watched sadly as Grantaire did a full-body-flinch, curling into himself even further. 

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire's expression cleared and he abruptly stood and picked up the tray. “I should go. Musichetta probably has more things for me to do.” They stared at each other awkwardly for a couple of seconds.

“Okay,” Enjolras finally said. “After you’re done, if you wanted to, I have a couple of books in the library that might be interesting to read. If you wanted to go through them with me” He made sure to concentrate on the pastries in front of him, glancing at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye. 

Grantaire looked staggered, a haunted look that appeared on his face anytime anyone acted even remotely humane towards him. The same look had appeared the first time his stomach growled and Musichetta had simply laughed and fed him; when he slept in late, rushing down the stairs in a jumble of apologies and tears before Courfeyrac had pressed a kiss against his cheek and handed him a sweet roll; when he began talking about the painting that Enjolras had commissioned years ago, hands fluttering around in an excited frenzy as he got caught up in his own enthusiasm before suddenly shutting down completely and apologizing meekly for his enthusiasm. Enjolras had pulled him into an armchair and practically demanded the boy to tell him more about the painting, watching as Grantaire slowly relaxed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He looked as if no one had treated him like a human being until now and it made Enjolras’s heart ache. 

“I taught my sister, Cosette to read,” he added with forced lightness before biting into another palmier. “And I would really love to get my hands on this recipe.”

Grantaire nodded jerkily before fleeing. 

 

***

 

A few weeks after Grantaire’s arrival to Musain Manor, Cosette showed up, bright and lovely and glowing. Marius, Enjolras’s new groom, took her horse, stuttering a greeting at her before disappearing, the back of his neck bright red.

“Brother dearest, I hear you’ve found yourself a puppy.”

Grantaire popped out from the hallway, having followed Enjolras to the front hall. He looked at Cosette, wide-eyed, Enjolras noted, but clear of any distrust or fear. “Puppy?” 

“Is that him?” Cosette looked delighted, stepping towards Grantaire. “Hello, my name is Cosette. You must be Grantaire.”

Grantaire turned towards Enjolras, curious, before turning his attention to Cosette. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. May I… may I braid your hair?” 

Enjolras grinned. Grantaire had a refreshingly blunt personality when it wasn’t being repressed by fear, and Enjolras found no reason to restrict the steady flow of chatter.

He looked pleased when she agreed readily. She paused, studying his expression for permission before taking his arm and enthusiastically leading him out into the gardens.

Cosette and Grantaire found him in thestudy a few hours later to call him down for dinner. Grantaire’s cheeks were flushed and he was laughing at something Cosette was saying. He looked so much younger and happier than the boy Enjolras had brought home a couple months ago. 

His hair was growing out, long and dark and untamed, curling around his sharp jaw and he was gaining some much needed weight. His nose was slightly crooked from where it had been broken twice and his cheeks had filled out. When Bossuet had took him swimming last week, his ribs weren’t protruding skeletally like they had when he had first arrived. 

The amount of food Musichetta had prepared the first week was enough to feed a whole army for several days, but everyone kept quiet when Grantaire’s eyes had widened in shock at the feast spread out in the dining room. 

“You can eat as much as you want, you know,” Enjolras had teased when he saw Grantaire taking small bites of the food Musichetta had placed onto his plate, but not reaching out to take more. Grantaire had been staring longingly at a slice of Musichetta’s meat pie. 

“I can eat… as much as I want?” he had questioned, looking shocked.

“As long as you don’t get sick,” Enjolras replied and Grantaire’s eyes shone. The entire table stayed silent as he reached out hesitatingly for the slice of pie he had been eyeing, and everyone cheered, loud enough to shake the table, when he placed it onto his own plate.

Grantaire grinned at that, hiding his smile behind his napkin, but not before Enjolras saw it first. 

The bruises had long since disappeared, although there was a nasty remnant of a scar on Grantaire’s left cheek and another running down his side, puckered and ugly. With the clothes Musichetta had cheerfully bought, he looks like a typical young man leaning against Cosette’s side. The dark of his hair contrasting with the bright gold of hers. Enjolras grinned at the both of them.

Dinner at the Manor was, as always, a lively affair with everyone gathered around the dining table to feast on Musichetta’s delicacies. Loaves of bread studded with olives, hearty meat pies, stuffed fowl, oysters onion soup, and a decadent yule log for dinner. 

Cosette’s infectious energy had Grantaire laughing, eyes crinkling into crescents and nose scrunched up and Enjolras couldn't stop a large smile from taking over his face.  

On the other end of the table, Musichetta was fussing over Bossuet who had come back from his most recent hunting trip with a limp. Marius, who was sitting across from Cosette seemed more preoccupied with Enolras’s sister than the actual dinner, and Enjolras smirked when Cosette purposefully sucked her spoon into her mouth and Marius choked. His sister was incredibly mischievous when she wanted to be, but he knew that she was intrigued by his newest groom.

Grantaire leaned over, poking Enjolras in the nose as Musichetta and Courfeyrac began bringing in the desserts. He had a sweet smile on his face which Enjolras returned.

Sitting at the head of the table filled with friends and family, Enjolras had never felt more content.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://influentyeol.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://etheryeol.tumblr.com/)


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